Page 24 of Property of Kevlar

“I go by Kevlar now,” he said.

“Little Junior and Baby Boy were terrible,” she commented on their previous road names as she worked on the brakes. “But Kid and Kevlar are worse.”

He inhaled a deep, audible breath, hooked his thumbs into his back pockets, and nodded. She didn’t have to like the monikers. Hell, she didn’t even have to use them, but she should respect them. They’d earned them.

“We’re back,” he reiterated.

“What does that have to do with me?”

Damn. He wasn’t prepared for this level of bitter bitchiness. Her sass was fully expected. She’d never been one to take shit, but this was a different level.

“Most people are happy to see their brothers again after a few years.”

“Most brothers don’t screw their sisters over.”

That one stung. He licked his lower lip. Explaining the reasons for his previous actions wouldn’t do any good. He barely understood how he could just walk away himself. How could he expect her to get it?

“Things have changed,” he said.

“Not for me,” she countered.

“We’re gonna set up here.”

“Have at it.”

“No. I mean here.”

She turned slowly and studied him.

Granted, the situation wasn’t ideal—for either of them. Kevlar didn’t have many choices. Neither he nor Kid held any property in Oklahoma. At least this building had their surname branded on it.

“As you know, the old clubhouse is gone. We need a base of operations,” he explained.

“That’s not my problem.”

Fair. Unfortunately, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. This was the only answer he’d been able to come up with for a quick temporary headquarters.

Kevlar sighed. “Don’t make this difficult.”

She charged, closing the distance between them. She stopped mere inches from his face. “You don’t get to fuck off for years, leaving me to figure this shit out, and then show up and take it from me.”

“Well, my name is on the wall outside,” he said and immediately regretted it.

Internally, he winced, bracing himself for whatever she threw at him—hopefully, this time it wouldn’t be a tire or a wrench.

She curled her fingers into a fist, cocked back, and slammed it into his gut.

The air flew from his lungs in a grunt. He doubled over in pain and stumbled back a few steps, bumping into a large barrel on wheels of spent oil. At least he didn’t knock it over.

Remi turned on her heel and returned to work. “My name is on the deed.”

Kid appeared at his side as Kevlar straightened himself.

“You earned that,” his younger brother offered unhelpfully.

Kevlar nodded. “I don’t want to take anything away from you,” he said, approaching Remi. “We just need space.”

“You’ll have to discuss that with the Dixie Dicks,” she said.